


Hold It Gently Now and Go

by Elpie (Horribibble)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assassin Dorian, Doctor Dorian, Drabbles, Ficlet Collection, M/M, Nurse Cullen, Target Cullen, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for any Cullrian drabbles that pop up without mutating into giant complicated monsters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here's Your Male

**Author's Note:**

> The collection title is from Spinnerette's _Baptized By Fire_ , which I think fits nicely.

Cullen hands over the mail with a polite nod and an, “I hope your vacation was enjoyable” and prepares to get the hell out of dodge as quickly as is humanly possible. His neighbor is a nice enough man, but he also happens to be a very vocal activist for mage rights.

Cullen isn’t  _against_ the platform, but he’s heard the same lecture a few times, now, and coupled with the power surges and the smell of smoke and chemicals wafting off the mage’s experiments, he’s not inclined to get sucked into the other man’s life.

And then there’s a thud, followed by yowling, and a frustrated, “Maker  _take it all, Anders!_ Not another fucking cat!” 

Anders actually looks insulted. “Her  _name_ is Lady Fangoria.”

“The hell you say.” The man comes into the living room, making angry strides to the door, “I need to go buy a lint brush or twelve. I’ll be back to help…you… _hello_.”

He reaches up to straighten his clothing, and a flicker of flame singes stray cat hair from his collar. Another mage. A frightfully attractive one. 

Anders’ smile is smug in a way that makes Cullen want to pull it off and smack him with it. “Rutherford, this is Dorian. Dorian, this is the neighbor with the stick up his ass.”

“Oh, my.” Dorian grins. “Did you need help with that?”

Cullen needs help with lots of things. Including the infernal heat that spreads from his belly up to his ears. 


	2. The Asshole in Room 407 - Modern Medical AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [mynoncents](http://mynoncents.tumblr.com/) prompted: cullen is a nurse in charge of felix. dorian is annoying him with “tips” to take better care of his friend. felix is watching the show. dorian actually has a degree in medicine from tevinter which is useless in fereldan but impresses cullen. now kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will likely be a few more installments of this, because I went and had _feelings_ about Dorian practicing illegally in emergencies, and telling Cullen all about people coming in with dueling injuries.

Cullen is, perhaps, the best-liked nurse on the fourth floor, if not the entire campus. He came from a career with the Chantry, which means he has seen some frankly horrendous things, and he has dedicated himself quite admirably to helping other people.

He’s kind, patient, and people rarely yell at him. He’s good with kids, physically strong, and with the kind of shit he’s seen, there’s not much that can phase him. Cassandra calls him her rock, and thumps him on the shoulder, and he swallows the wince because Cassandra missed her calling as a UFC champion.

The other nurses nearly dote on him, and he enjoys hearing about their lives. Cassandra shares most of his shifts, and even when Giselle gets herself worked up, the environment is pleasant enough.

Which is why it’s something of a surprise when he shows up for his shift and Lindy marches up to him and says, “You’re not going to _believe_ the asshole in Room 407.”

But that makes no sense, because _Felix_ is in Room 407. He came to them from the finest teaching hospital in Tevinter where they have, apparently, made leaps and bounds in the containment (if not the total eradication) of the Blight. Felix is a modest man, kind and unfailingly polite even when physical therapy becomes painfully difficult, or when the various other illnesses that have crept in the open door throw up a road block.

He’s _brave_ , and Cullen enjoys talking with him when he does his rounds of the floor.

What it boils down to, really, is that you’d have to do something frankly _awful_ to provoke Felix Alexius into rudeness, and Cullen’s having a hard time imagining it.

Lindy rolls her eyes and tosses her hands up, ever the dramatic one, “Ugh! He thinks he’s a doctor or something I get enough of this shit from the...oh. _Yay_.”

Cullen follows her gaze to a striking man, glaringly Tevene, with a curled moustache and an arched brow. “I _am_ a doctor, actually. I was wondering if you might direct me to whatever machine spews out what passes for coffee around here.”

Lindy jabs her finger in the direction of the coffee machine and _glares_ until the man walks off.

“Did he spit in the donuts or something?”

“He’s been nitpicking about Felix’s care. Incessantly. Like if he were actually a doctor--”

“Lin, he just said he was.”

“Not a bloody _real_ one. He’s been,” She glances back to see if the man is within earshot, then lowers her voice, “practicing _magic_. Openly. Conjuring up ice and little balls of light, and honestly, Felix is here because he’s in for physical therapy. We specialize in the area, we don’t need to start importing ‘vints left and right.”

Lindy’s viewpoint isn’t an uncommon one, in a southern hospital. It’s a bit outdated, as far as Cullen understands. As in all other fields in the south, the medical profession has harsh restrictions on magic.

Southern mages are generally unable to pursue careers in hospitals, because they aren’t allowed to study anatomical texts. At some point, someone in a position of power had insisted, _If a mage knows how the body functions, will he not be better inclined to_ _**control** _ _it?_

Once upon a time, a younger, angrier Cullen would have agreed.

But in Tevinter, they’ve made some serious advancements. Most recently, the successful containment and stagnation of the Blight in a living host.

There’s none of the usual policing. They’re considered _doctors,_ not healers, and there aren’t Templars breathing down their necks every time they twitch. They help people without fear.

So as the asshole from Room 407 struts back down the hall, head held high and coffee cup in hand, Cullen turns to wish him a good morning.

He asks, “How is Felix doing?”

And the man offers up a small smile, “He’s well, thank you. It’s good to see color in his cheeks. I’ll assume you’re Cullen.”

“You’d assume correctly.”

“Dorian Pavus.” He puts out his hand to shake, the tan lines from a variety of absent rings glaringly obvious against the warm brown of his skin. “A friend. I’ll be around for a while, I’m afraid.”

Cullen takes the hand, more than a little off balance.

Because Dorian Pavus is not just a friend. He’s the man who’d come up with the _method_ for stopping the Blight.

The asshole in Room 407 is a medical rockstar, and he’s fucked off down to Fereldan, where he’s _legally barred_ from continuing in his field.

“I’ll be in in just a moment.”

Dorian’s hand tightens just a bit, not uncomfortably. His thumb rubs against the soft skin of Cullen’s wrist. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

Cullen has a few things to explain to Lindy. Not the least of which is the bright flush on his cheeks.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took all of my willpower not to add in 'durr bhurr technology is bad magic is scary and genitivi was a demon'


	3. One Minor Problem - Assassin AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's something Dorian probably should have mentioned sooner, and there's something more important than drapes to argue about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Anon prompt for assassin/target Cullrian on Tumblr.)
> 
> There's actually more of this written. It just hasn't been polished yet.

The best part of Cullen’s day is coming home.

That’s not to say he hates his job, or that he’s particularly grumpy or antisocial. He just really appreciates finally walking up to his front door at the end of the day and looking forward to what’s waiting on the other side.

He likes being able to kick off his shoes, drop his bag and keys, and scratch Petunia behind the ears. He likes taking a deep breath and basking in the sounds of Dorian’s footfalls as he comes to kiss him hello, or the smooth call of, “In here!” from the kitchen or den.

He likes the instant sensation of stress melting off of his shoulders.

So when he comes home Thursday night, drops his bag and keys, and scratches Petunia behind the ears, he takes a deep breath and looks around, waiting for Dorian. But no sound comes. He frowns, because for a moment he thinks that his boyfriend must be very involved with something, but then, the lights are off.

Dorian would let him know if he was going out, and if he’s reading in the dark again, he’ll just give himself a headache.

Cullen sighs and shakes his head. He gives Petunia a quick pat and pads out of the entryway, looking for his stubborn boyfriend. “Dorian?” He calls.

There’s a prickling feeling at the back of his neck as he steps into the den. The windows are large, yawning into the space. They still haven’t picked out proper drapes. (It’s an ongoing argument.)

Cullen sighs and rolls his neck and shoulders, trying to work out the unease, and then suddenly he hears the door slam open. He begins to turn, only to be suddenly thrown to the ground, Dorian landing hard on top of him mere _seconds_ before those great big windows shatter in _torrents_ of glass shards.

Petunia starts barking like mad.

Dorian kneels above him with _murder_ in his eyes. He’s breathing hard, his hair is mussed, and he’s shaking with exertion.

“Dorian, what--?”

"You turned off your phone, didn't you?" His speech is fast, but not panicked. It comes like a breeze, quick and harsh.

"No, it's--it's just on vibrate. Dorian, what the fuck?!" He pulls his phone from his back pocket, glances at the screen--

**_Meet me at the café in fifteen, amatus._ **

**_It's important._ **

**_Please tell me you got this._ **

**_Cullen if you're headed home anyway_ **

**_Why THE FUCK do you even have a phone_ **

**_FUCK_ **

**_STAY AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS_ **

Cullen realizes, with a tightness in his chest, that the noises he’s hearing are _gunshots._ The windows have been shattered by sniper fire, and there are _holes_ in the couch back above them.

"Dorian, what the _hell_ is this about?!"

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry about this darling. I may have left out a few things about myself during all of this."

" _Like why someone might want to kill me?!_ "

"Like being the first man hired to do it."

"I'm sorry, **_what_**?!"

"I changed my mind!"

 


	4. ink & gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Captain-Amoruca](http://captain-amoruca.tumblr.com/) prompted: “Cullrian Wing x Soulmate AU, in which one’s wings have a feather the color of their soulmate’s.”

Dorian's wings are beautiful: 

Large, glossy things that frame him beautifully as he roams the halls of his family's coastal seat, the cool stone hallways a respite from the damp, hot air of summer in Qarinus. The ceilings are almost forbiddingly high, shadows gathering in the upper corners, criss-crossed with fabric-draped beams.

It's unbecoming, but Dorian has nested in these convenient hidey holes since he was old enough to access them, watching his mother and father gliding through the corridors, feathers never once touching the ground. Watching the servants with their long, dexterous fingers rushing about, trying to find him.

But Dorian does not often want to be found. So he wraps himself in his soft feathers and pretends, for as long as he can.

He does not want to be groomed.

Even closed in the protective span of his feathers, hidden in the shadows of the eaves, he can see the mottled brown feathers poking out from his beautiful jewel black ones.

Really, he thinks bitterly. _If only I could dip them in ink._

-

In Tevinter, breeding is everything.

A citizen's wings alone tell a detailed story of breeding for plumage--bold, vibrant colors and brilliant gradients. Occasionally, a pattern might be seen, though the idea is daring.

Dull colors and patterns are the mark of soporati, those fortunate to be allowed any space in the sky.

Those who spend most of their lives in the dirt.

For a short time, when he is very young, he hears whispers of it from his nannies. He entertains the thought of finding his flight mate and pulling them into the cool, sweet air with him.

But dreams are thinner than clouds, and leave one's eyes just as wet and achy.

-

Dorian knows in his bones that these _common plain ugly drab_ feathers belong to someone who is meant only for him. He knows that in the span of their wings, these feathers must glow warm in the light, a caramel color that absorbs the sun's love and reflect it back as easily.

He knows that he was born to run his fingers through the soft weight of them and be enfolded by them.

He knows that, as they arch against the endless blue of the sky, he will be sheltered by someone with warm eyes and strong arms.

And so, even as he hisses at his own failings in his father's eyes, Dorian will not allow anyone to pluck them out, as is done in proper society.

He'll bite anyone who tries.

He has done before.

-

In Fereldan, evidently, black wings are considered an ill omen; the appearance of dark feathers in the white snow sets a fair number to prayer, as he passes by.

A girl points in the golden brown feathers nestled in amongst the deep night shine of Dorian's. She cries, "Look, mummy!"

As if there is some good in him that no one else can see.

Her mother is quick to pull her away. Dorian will find no welcome in this town.

But his feathers drag the ground a little less as he trudges on.

-

As it turns out, brown looks far better on the Inquisition's own Commander than it ever has settled in with Dorian's ever dark array, glimmering in lamplight and daylight both.

The first time--when Dorian stumbles after a long journey and Cullen has no choice but to catch him, he is more than a little bit delirious from exhaustion. And so, when those great, imposing wings close around him, littered with abyssal, inky black, he can't help but laugh.

  
"Would you look at that," Dorian huffs. "They're beautiful after all."

**Author's Note:**

> I can always be found and prompted [on tumblr.](http://anabundanceofstilinskis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
